


the taste of nonexistence

by The_IPRE



Category: Archive 81 (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Morgan | The Clerk, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_IPRE/pseuds/The_IPRE
Summary: Morgan takes the customer’s orders, gets their food, sets it on the table with the proper weight.She does not take note of their faces. She does not have a reason to.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	the taste of nonexistence

**Author's Note:**

> i had plans for other things to write but! morgan lives in my head rent free

A diner appears over the horizon as though it has been there for centuries, and will be there for centuries more.

A clerk stands behind the counter as though she has stood there for centuries, and will stand there for centuries more.

The bell above the door chimes and Morgan remembers that she exists, and so she puts on the face that the customers will want to see, the one she was given along with her nametag.

The face has some cracks in it, same as the nametag, but it’s workable. 

Her hands are heavy and still at her sides as she recites the greeting, aching for an instrument, to press chords into her palm and feel the thrum vibrate along her skin and through to her bones, but that is not a possibility. She is a professional. She has a job. She keeps her head down. 

She leads the guests to a table and lets them situate themselves, waits the appropriate moments before returning for their orders. 

It is all a part of a script she learned a long time ago. It is all a part of the motions she was given when she was someone else. It is all a part of a dance that has sunk through her muscles and into her tendons, one that lifts her knees and opens her jaw, strumming the proper words from her vocal chords. She hardly has to pay attention now, mind floating somewhere out and away from the rest of herself. 

She has always been good at running on autopilot.

Even before coming to this place, before learning about the creation of bodies and sculpting of ones other than her own, before the godsong – but not before music, she didn’t exist before music, could not imagine existing without music – she had learned to wind up a face and let it rattle its pattern to completion.

It was always so much easier to not exist. She was not a person who could seem to _be_ in a way that was wanted, and so she did not. 

Morgan takes the customer’s orders, gets their food, sets it on the table with the proper weight. 

She does not take note of their faces. She does not have a reason to.

She returns to her place behind the counter, muscles tensing and holding her tight enough that she does not long for something beyond the uniform she wears.

The pattern of her breathing settles and she feels the movement, hears the exhalation.

In the days-months-years that she has been keeping her head down, there have been moments where she has missed existing. This moment, hands aching for the strings of her naverlee and muscles again her own at the rest in the script and mind wishing it was given the space to create, is one of them.

She can feel the pulse of her blood in her fingertips and draws herself to that, held still behind the counter and kept alive by those moments of tempo. A staccato click of a coffee cup hitting the table is almost enough to break the reverie and makes her shoulders jump, but it is quickly folded back into conversation. She is almost able to find a rhythm in the words, rising and lilting and falling and carrying her along until she rises to the tips of her toes, song whirling against the face that she wears–

The customers stand, meal finished. She gives them the proper salutation, heels settling back to the ground. They leave, words and footsteps and pulses taken with them.

Moody’s Family Friendly Diner and Eatery is once again empty. Moody’s Family Friendly Diner and Eatery is once again gone.

Morgan is no longer standing behind the counter. She is no longer standing anywhere, and she does not exist outside of herself. She allows music to swirl out and surround her, lifting her hands and letting them move through the space that does not exist either.

Morgan floats in an ocean that does not exist, same as her, and the music swells to hold her tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or kudos, or come talk to me on tumblr at [the-ipre](https://the-ipre.tumblr.com)!


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